


Old Things Have Strange Hungers

by Kedreeva



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Asexual Character, Begging, Curses, Dragon forms, Dragon sex, Dragon!Aziraphale, Dragons, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Historical, Hopeful Ending, I don't even know what else to add, Mating Flight, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Other, Porn with Feelings, True Form Sex, True Forms, Under-negotiated Kink, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Weird Biology, arthurian legends, dragon!Crowley, involving some very sexual corporations, mild physical fight, not exactly a happy ending, though oh boy do they get themselves into a Situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: A long time ago, when Merlin was just a boy, he predicted (quite correctly) that a tower being built by a ruler of the time continued to collapse due to a pair of dragons slumbering beneath it- one white, one red.Well, perhaps they were notreallydragons, but Crowley figures they're close enough to fool the humans.Wherein Crowley learns a lesson about getting what he wants, and things do not go exactly as planned- but then, it wasn't a very good plan anyway.





	Old Things Have Strange Hungers

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this is not going to be what most of you were expecting when I said I was going to write about dragons (though some of you know me better than that), but, well, here we are. I have no regrets, I enjoyed the FUCK out of writing this and I'm very pleased with it. But please, please- read the tags.
> 
> This one goes out to the Ace Omens nsfw chat folks, because y'all are a wild bunch of motherfuckers, I love every one of you.
> 
> Title and opening quote are both from works by Catherynne M. Valente.

* * *

“You will always fall in love

and it will always be like

having your throat cut,

just that fast”

― Catherynne M. Valente,_ Deathless _

* * *

Aziraphale strode past the night guards at the camp without so much as a glance from any of them. Even if they had not been sleepy with food and drink, Aziraphale was in no mood to be seen by mortals. In fact, there was only _one _being he cared to see, and that being was currently tucked away at the heart of the sprawling camp, in a tent not unlike what Aziraphale might have miracled for himself if their positions had been reversed. It sat, low and pristine even in this mud, beside that of Vortigern’s, and if one did not know which was which, they would almost certainly presume Crowley’s lodging held the ruling party.

In a way, Aziraphale supposed, it did.

Which was exactly what had brought him there.

“Crowley!” he demanded from just outside the tent flap. He didn’t stop, shoving aside the curtain in the way and practically walking straight into Crowley, who must have come to meet him. “Crowley!”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, backing up and giving him a thoroughly confused look. “What are _you _doing-” He waved a hand to encompass the bleak, empty countryside outside the tent walls.

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed, realizing belatedly that he probably ought not have barged in, and that Crowley was dressed rather… well, he was rather_ undressed_, actually, and didn't seem at all interested in changing that fact now. Aziraphale straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin a little. “I _was_ helping a human child, right up until _your _ charge’s men came and _kidnapped _him while I was away making my report!”

Crowley blinked, clearly not having expected that. “What, the Emrys boy?” he asked, confused. “That was_ you_, teaching him magic?”

“It was,” Aziraphale confirmed. “And I shall need him back.”

“Oh, I can’t do that, angel,” Crowley said, shaking his head and giving Aziraphale a bemused look as he relaxed a bit, moving now for the straw mat piled in furs that must be serving as his bed. “I just had him taken in!”

“That was_ you _ ?” Aziraphale squawked. He’d been wondering why Vortigern’s men had shown up out of the blue to take a _child _into custody. It made more sense if Crowley had bent their ear about him. “What on Earth do you need young Merlin for?”

“He knows magic,” Crowley said, as if that should be obvious. He collapsed down onto the furs. “Human magic, that is.”

“Was your own not good enough?” Aziraphale asked, a little bit of a taunt slinking around the edges of the words.

Crowley grimaced, clearly less enthused about that truth. “Apparently _not_,” he said. “Vortigern’s been trying to build this blasted tower for weeks, and it just keeps… falling over. I’ve no idea why. The foundation’s solid, the craftsmen are doing their job, the-”

“I’ve been collapsing it,” Aziraphale cut in, just a teeny bit proud at the offended look Crowley turned to him as soon as he’d said it. “I’m supposed to prevent them building that tower.”

“_ You’ve _been doing it?” It was Crowley’s turn to squawk. He opened and closed his mouth a couple more times, before finally letting out a choked laugh. “Well, haven’t _we_ just played ourselves for fools. I think it’s safe to assume you won’t let them ever build the tower after they kill the boy.”

“_Kill him _?” Aziraphale snarled, bristling. He hadn’t wanted to take the boy back by force, but the thought of him being killed had holy energy crackling along his frame, and Crowley cringed back a little. “I suppose that was your idea as well?”

“No!” Crowley said quickly. “I thought he’d be able to tell why the ground was sinking! The other wizards got cagey to have a real wizard among them and now they want him dead! Had nothing to do with me!”

“Except that you _put_ him in this position!” Aziraphale snapped, temper rising. He had an _assignment _and Crowley was about to _ruin _it and for _what _? He was right- Aziraphale would spend the rest of Vortigern’s miserable life thwarting the construction of this tower, if they managed to kill Merlin.

Crowley hackled. “I’m doing my_ job_, angel,” he hissed, getting back on his feet. Across such a short distance, Aziraphale could feel the heat of hellfire as Crowley’s own temper rose to match Aziraphale’s. “Maybe if you’d been doing yours-”

Aziraphale wasn’t about to let him finish that kind of insult. The bolt of light hit Crowley squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling, and a moment later the tent’s top fluttered down in shreds as the two of them shot into the night, wings out. Crowley’s inky wings shone red with hellfire and Aziraphale’s were a nearly blinding white. Crowley met him in midair, blade out, and Aziraphale raised his own on instinct, pulling it from the ether even as he swung.

The blades met with a resounding clang and he shoved Crowley away, wings fluttering as he arced around for another strike, his mortal form quickly subsumed by the earthly shadow of his true form. In the sky across from him, Crowley spread six wings and opened a maw like a great serpent’s, showing off. It was about all either of them could do without actually calling the attention of their superiors, and Aziraphale wasn’t about to do _that_. He wasn’t going to get into a _real _fight with Crowley. A little bit of celestial shoving to prove a point, maybe, but...

"The humans are watching," Crowley screeched, the notes of Enochian reaching Aziraphale easily. "And who knows who else. I don’t want to actually fight you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale’s claws tightened on his blade just a little, still piqued and feeling ornery about what had been done to Merlin. Crowley didn’t usually do things that would hurt children and even though he was far more advanced a creature than most humans, Merlin was barely into double digits and he was_ Aziraphale’s _charge. Of course they were on opposite sides but Crowley usually… he usually treated Aziraphale better than that. It stung in more ways than one, and he had let it get to him.

But Crowley was right. A fight wouldn’t solve the problem, regardless of how it had been created. They needed to fix the situation like themselves, not like other angels and demons. He lowered his weapon.

"Nor I, you," he admitted, glow dimming.

"Come down," Crowley coaxed, maw closing. All but two of his wings folded, the red glow of his hellfire like embers between his feathers. "I may have an idea. A… compromise."

A location outside of the camp pressed against his mind, and Aziraphale accepted it, winging there almost instantly. Crowley appeared beside him, so quickly it looked like teleportation, though Aziraphale knew that it was just how they flew- too fast for Earthly distances, usually. He sheathed his sword in ether and set foot upon the ground, in human form once more and already feeling a bit silly for overreacting.

Crowley landed as though he’d jumped off a short step, and took two slowing steps before he fell still. A sly smile lit upon his lips. “You really_ are _in a mood, if that’s all it took to get you riled up, angel,” he commented, leering a little. “Barely said anything at all, and you-”

“You said you have a plan?” Aziraphale asked mildly, just to stop him. They’d just lit up the sky for all the humans to see, and he was feeling more foolish about it by the second. He hoped whatever cockamamie plan Crowley had thought up included fixing_ that_.

“A truce, for a couple of days,” Crowley said. “If you agree to stop toppling the tower, I’ll get Merlin released. Have him packed up wherever you want him to go. Anywhere you want.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You had him taken in the first place, that’s not a very fair plan.”

“My_ plan _didn’t involve him getting his head lopped off,” Crowley pointed out, then waved his hand. “Listen, regardless of how it happened, this is where we’re at.”

Aziraphale considered his options. He didn’t have a_ lot _of choice. He could storm in and just _take _Merlin, but Gabriel would have a meltdown over _that_. And there was always the matter of- “And how are you going to explain what just happened?”

“Let me worry about that,” Crowley told him. “Do we have a deal?”

“If I let Vortigern build his wall, I want you to leave him alone after,” Aziraphale declared. The man had been a thorn in Heaven's side for a while now, and Aziraphale was suddenly _very_ sure he knew _why_. Heaven would have a hard time objecting to anything he did surrounding the cessation of infernal influence over Vortigern. “No more tempting.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and then his expression cleared and he shrugged a little helplessly. “Fine,” he said easily, and stuck out a hand. “It’s a deal. I’ll save your boy, you leave the tower alone and I won’t tempt Vortigern. That sound about right?”

Aziraphale was not _entirely_ sure he trusted Crowley to keep his word, but he supposed as long as Merlin got rescued without a fuss Aziraphale would later have to explain on paper, it was good enough. Besides, if Crowley went back on his word, Aziraphale could always just start toppling the tower again. It seemed like a safe bet, and so he took Crowley’s hand and shook it once to seal the deal.

“Excellent,” Crowley practically purred as he released Aziraphale’s hand with a bit of a shake. “Now, here’s the plan...”

* * *

Crowley’s fingers swept delicately over the locking mechanism and the tumblers fell into place with a soft series of clicks. When he pulled at the door, it swung, hinges miraculously silent, and Crowley peeked around the edge of it to see the young boy sitting on the straw pallet in the corner of the jailcart. His brown hair lay mussed atop his head, dirt scrubbed onto his face, and he sat with his knees drawn up to his chest. Frayed rope and iron chain circled his wrists and ankles, binding him to the wall at the rear. He met Crowley’s gaze, even in the darkness.

“Merlin,” Crowley said lowly, as if there was any doubt to whom he spoke. “It’s Aziraphale. I need-”

“You’re not,” the boy said, so steady and sure that Crowley found himself taken aback, his next words lost. “You’re not Aziraphale.” The boy looked him up and down once, unimpressed, and then met his eyes again. “Hm. You must be the demon he was on about, though.”

Crowley’s heart gave an extra hard few thuds to think that Aziraphale had not only talked about him to this literal_ child_, but had told him what Crowley truly was. More surprising, Merlin had been able to _t__ell._ A lot of things about this entire situation began to make quite a lot more sense, and Crowley began to like it all a whole lot less.

“Then you’re not human, I take it,” Crowley murmured, not quite an accusation.

“Half,” Merlin told him.

“Which half?” Crowley asked, already knowing the answer. It had to have been his mother. He’d have heard if a nephilim had been spawned by an angel. He had the sudden, trueform-deep fear that Merlin belonged to Aziraphale, himself, and of everything that would entail.

“The one that matters,” Merlin said. “Where’s Aziraphale?”

“Waiting for me,” Crowley explained, leaning against the door’s frame. “We have a plan to get you out of here.”

“I hope it’s untying me and leaving that door open,” Merlin told him.

Crowley made a face at him, but managed not to mimic the suggestion. “I could, and they’d hunt you down by sunset tomorrow,” he said instead. “And anyway, you need to make an impression with these folks. You’re apparently supposed to make quite a name for yourself down the road.”

“No thanks to you,” Merlin said, without inflection. “Assuming it was your suggestion that got me found in the first place.”

Crowley didn’t bother denying it. They both knew it was. “Look, you can run if you want to so badly. I’ll leave the door open. I’m sure Aziraphale will understand why you went off and got yourself killed.”

Merlin snorted. “Is your plan any better?”

Crowley stifled a laugh. “He’s rubbed off on you, hasn’t he then,” he remarked.

He felt a little curl of affection for this plucky human, young as he was. Aziraphale had explained where Merlin was meant to go, what he was meant to do later on, and Crowley had given serious consideration to nixing the kid to avoid all that trouble. But, having met Merlin, Crowley found himself – just a little bit, anyway – looking forward to seeing him again in a quarter century or two.

“Listen, kid. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to have a choice,” Crowley told him, straightening up some only so he could put his hands on the floor of the cart. He leaned in to speak. “You can let yourself be sacrificed to keep a bloody wall from toppling over – which we both know won’t stop it doing so, because it’s not just falling over on its own – or you can tell Vortigern a bit of a lie and walk away completely unscathed. Or, if it pleases you more, take a place in his court. He’ll offer you one, after he sees what you say come to pass.”

“And what will I say?” Merlin asked, a bit skeptically but clearly more interested now.

“You’re going to tell him that his tower keeps falling because of dragons,” Crowley said, not a little smugly.

He knew exactly how much nonsense it would sound like Merlin spoke, but they’d needed something to explain the visions of their true forms earlier, and it had to also get Merlin out of trouble. And even though it would sound like nonsense, no human would ever doubt Merlin after seeing real dragons appear to validate his prediction. It wouldn’t matter what he said after, the other humans would believe it.

Which was, arguably, a very dangerous tool to bestow upon a child, but Aziraphale had been convinced of the amount of chaos the child could cause, both good and bad, if put in such a position. Crowley figured that Aziraphale would claim the good side, and Crowley could claim the bad, and no one would be the wiser. It would almost certainly make up for Crowley abandoning Vortigern to his own devices after the tower.

“_Dragons_,” Merlin echoed incredulously, judgement oozing from his tone.

“Yes, dragons,’ Crowley repeated, feeling like a parent trying to convince a child about bedtime. “You’ll tell Vortigern that they sleep beneath the tower site, and disturb it in the night when they rise to fight. You’re going to tell him that if they are roused during the day, they'll leave, and then he can build his tower.”

“But there aren’t dragons,” Merlin said, sitting back again and looking – if possible – even less impressed with Crowley now.

“There aren’t _now_,” Crowley told him, hoping that he would catch the meaning.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “You can_ make_ dragons?”

Crowley shook his head. “Make them, no,” he said, and then flicked out his tongue, fully serpentine, bruise-purple and forked at the end. “But _look _like them? Well. That’s easy.”

It was not, strictly speaking, easy at all, but the child need not know that. Crowley rather _l__iked _to appear impressive, and even though in this instance Merlin seemed particularly disinclined toward impression, it still felt good to do a little bragging. Merlin would see, tomorrow.

Merlin seemed less convinced. “And Aziraphale?”

“There’s gotta be two dragons, to have a fight,” Crowley told him. “He’s already down waiting. There was no sense in him risking coming through here to tell you, so I… y’know.”

Something lit in Merlin’s eyes, some kind of understanding, and he nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll do it.”

“Great!” Crowley said, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth; if he had, he might have noticed its teeth were not only all present, but perhaps too many and a bit too sharp. “I’ll ah… I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He backed up enough to reach for the open door, and inside the cart, Merlin shifted. “Crowley?” he said, and waited until Crowley had leaned back in to look at him in the dark. “May you get what you want, tomorrow.”

A tingle of magic spider-webbed down Crowley’s spine at the farewell, and Crowley withdrew from the cart a little too quickly, closing the door on the strange child. As he did so, a peculiar truth occurred to him, both comforting and very, very not at the same time.

There was no way Aziraphale had fathered the boy, because Merlin wasn’t at all half-angel.

He was half_ demon_.

The thought followed Crowley all the way to Vortigern’s quarters.

* * *

Crowley, smaller than even the smallest of ants, wove his way between the atoms of dirt at top speed, heading for where he could feel Aziraphale’s holy power beneath the ground. It was a smooth sort of burn against his senses, the way a good whiskey going down would feel in the following millennia. He could also feel the change in him, the shape of the magic spilling into a corporation much larger than their others, something of the older, Earthly magics clinging to its bones. Excitement buzzed in Crowley’s core at the thought of joining him. He'd been a serpent before, but never something so extravagant as a true dragon.

He slithered out of the rock face and hit the ground with a splash, a normal size once more. Aziraphale had gutted a small cavern in the ground, the sand and grit and pebbles of the place smoothed into the approximation of walls to keep the soil at bay. The floor had been turned into a pool of crystal-clear water and in the center of it lay coiled a great, silvery beast of scale and horn.

“You’re looking resplendent,” Crowley remarked dryly as he shook off the residual effect of traveling at atom size. He would need a moment before he could shift again.

The great white dragon lifted his head, blue eyes casting a faint glow into the cavern that Crowley didn’t need in order to see, but that painted everything in ethereal light. Crowley stole his moment of wait by tracing his eyes over the sleek curve of Aziraphale’s scaled neck, the twin horns that crested his head, the delicate curl of his tail over his taloned paws. And above all things, the great, feathery wings folded to his back, gleaming and set aglow in blue.

“You know, dragons aren’t supposed to have feathered wings,” Crowley told him.

_ Met many dragons, have you? _Aziraphale asked, and something in Crowley relaxed a little. Though his form was entirely different, Aziraphale still sat at the helm, just as petty and biting as usual.

“Not as many as I’d like,” Crowley said, which he liked to think didn’t answer anything at all. “The boy said he’d do it. Vortigern agreed to hear him out. A little bit of temptation might have him listening better than well. We should see them in a few hours.”

_ Good_, Aziraphale said. Not thank you, not praise. Crowley wanted to needle him until he confessed to Crowley’s skill at _ something._

“Were you going to tell me the kid’s part demon?” Crowley asked idly, leaning back against the cavern wall.

_ No_, Aziraphale said, eyes shifting to look away from him. _Your side wasn’t supposed to know at all. _

“Because he was supposed to be ours in the first place?” Crowley mused, trying not to grin too widely. He still had questions. “And here I thought stealing was a sin.”

Aziraphale huffed, the acrid scent of brimstone filling the small cavern as warmth curled briefly around Crowley._ It’s not stealing, to bring a child over to the light. Are you going to shift? _

Crowley smirked, but let it drop. There would be time, before the humans found them, for him to bring it up again. “I’ll show you how it’s done, angel.”

Reaching into his well of magic, down into his core, Crowley pulled forth the thought of what he wanted. Some of the shift was familiar- the claws, the horns, the long, needle teeth. He let his wings out, extending until the ebon feathers brushed the walls around them, like black holes in the void of space. Even the tail, though not quite like that of a snake’s, was easy to produce.

Much harder was the idea of keeping all of his limbs. He fell forward onto his hands as he shifted, clawed paws splashing in the shallow water, and had to fight the urge to keep going, to drop to his belly and become a squirming, writhing thing at Aziraphale’s feet. He was not meant to be small this time. He was meant to take up space, to be intimidating. He was meant to strike fear into the hearts of humans, not cajole them sweetly into taking a bite of forbidden fruits.

His feathers, like his clothing, melted into his form as his wings shifted from the single, lean limb of a bird to the spindly, finger-like appendages of a bat. The feathers became skin, his clothing scales, his hair twisting up and splitting to become a crest of spiraled horns. Something warm and heavy sat in his gut, burning in a way that wanted_ out_, and he knew that if he were to open his mouth and heave, he could light the cavern in dragon’s fire.

Above all of the rest, he felt the connection to Earthen magic through the genes of his new corporation. Celestial magic, from what he remembered, was cool and refreshing and begged to be shaped into new things. It wanted to obey. Infernal magic, such as he had experienced it, clamored hot and fast and wild, begging to be set loose so it could destroy. It needed a leash.

Earth magic, however, knew no such rules. It had known freedom and choice the way the humans did, and it wanted nothing so much as the ability to move and touch and consume the same way as them. It was heady and addictive and it nearly sent Crowley right out of his own mind and into that of his corporation’s before he even managed to finish the shift. It was hardly better after.

His legs gave out almost as soon as the transformation was complete, and he sank his jaw gratefully into the restorative waters Aziraphale had called so they could wallow. He gulped a few deep mouthfuls of the stuff, and closed his eyes, actually drawing breath because his corporation needed it. There would be an amount of explaining to be done at head office when this was over, but that was a problem for later. He could bring up why, exactly, he had altered his corporation so drastically after he’d completed his mission successfully. That was, after all, the point where no one cared _how _he’d done things, just that they _were _done.

_ Thanks_, he murmured weakly to Aziraphale’s mind.

_ Can’t have you passing out in the middle of the fight_, Aziraphale said with a little sniff, but Crowley could practically feel how pleased he was. He could also see Aziraphale watching him carefully anyway, body taut as though he were ready to move to help if Crowley _did _collapse.

Carefully, Crowley arranged himself until he was on the ground and comfortable. Considering the size of the cavern, there was not enough space to do so completely separately from Aziraphale, and so he ended up side-by-side with him, their great, scaled flanks pressed together, wings brushing. Without feathers to inhibit contact, Crowley could feel every brush of Aziraphale’s wings against his like a caress. He put his head down upon his paws and tried not to think too much about it.

Time passed. Not quickly or slowly, but it did, and they sat in companionable if awkward silence through most of it. Crowley stewed on all of the myriad questions he had, remembering how very much Heaven and all those associated with it – even Aziraphale – did not_ like _questions, and tried to pick just one or two that he might get away with asking.

He had just decided on one – ‘what on Earth were you going to_ do _with Merlin even if you did win him over?’ - when the first pebbles shook loose above them, evidence of the impending humans.

_ They’ll fall in, _Crowley said, suddenly and acutely aware of the mistakes they had made.

Aziraphale’s head swung up and back, craning to see where the humans would puncture the cavern. _Well there’s no avoiding it now_.

_ We’ll have to- _Crowley stopped himself short of suggesting that they make sure none of the humans would get injured. He was not supposed to care if the humans got hurt.

Aziraphale’s head tipped down to regard him, and the expression – if it could even be called such – was unreadable to Crowley. He didn’t know what passed for a dragon’s scowl or smile or confusion._ You’re worried for them? _

Crowley bared his teeth, just a little. _I’m not. _

_ You are, _Aziraphale mused, his own teeth baring, but Crowley didn’t feel threatened. He thought maybe that type of bared teeth felt more like a smile to his corporation. _I’ll ensure their safety. No quarrel I have with the diggers is worth their lives. _

Crowley huffed and refused to meet the angel’s glowing eyes._ Whatever helps you sleep at night_, he said, trying to ignore the brief flutter of relief he had felt.

They watched the ceiling rattle and tremble for a while longer, right up until Aziraphale shifted his bulk to stand. Crowley pressed himself to the opposite wall, as far as he could get from him, and Aziraphale spread a wing beneath the small cascades of pebbles. The debris slid off and down to the floor, clattering away, and only a few minutes later a few humans did the same, landing with splashes and shouts. A second later, a dome of magic flared around them, to keep them safe from what was about to happen.

_ Here we go_, Aziraphale said, sounding excited as he threw his head back and loosed an otherworldly screech, launching himself at the ceiling. Crowley added his deeper voice to the clamor and enjoyed the power in his corporation as he sprung up to give chase.

The cavern, formerly not much taller than their heads, rapidly fell away from them. Crowley thrust a shield of magic in front of him, rocks and soil sliding over it to fall to either side of him as he clawed to the surface behind Aziraphale. Distantly, he could hear the shouts and screams of humans as they fled the emerging pair of dragons, but in that moment his world narrowed down to the lashing tail of the white dragon before him, of the challenging shrieks cast out into the sunlight.

His wings spread and his corporation’s desire for flight flooded through him. It knew how to do this. Crowley knew how to fly, or at least he knew how to use his own wings, but this corporation was naturally tied to the Earth and its magic in a way the human body was not. Humans might train and find ways to connect, but this creature was what waited on the other side. It was what humans sought to connect _to._

It was made from Earth magics, and in that moment, it knew what it wanted, and it was going to take it no matter what he had to say about it.

He launched himself into the sky after the white without another thought.

* * *

Aziraphale tilted his head to look back at the red winging swiftly in his wake, and fire burned bright in his belly at the thought of a flight. He loosed a roar, shaking the air around him, and angled higher into the sky, wings beating until the air became so thin he had to weave magic to climb, and still the red pursued. It was strong, then. Determined. Good.

At the apex of his climb, the shimmering border that marked the edge of Earth’s magic, Aziraphale arced his entire body, twisting around. His pale wings folded tight to his body and he dropped like a stone past the startled red. It bellowed, folding in upon itself, and dropped after him. It was fast. Clever.

Carefully, Aziraphale rotated in the air, just enough that he fell more on his back, so that he could see the red. As gently as he could, he extended his magic to the red, let it slide over the top of the red’s magic, and he felt the answering shudder in the fabric of reality. It was willing, then. Angry, furious even if its earlier shrieking was any indication, but if he reached, it would reach back.

So he did. He untucked his paws from his chest and tilted his body to slow his fall enough that the red could catch him, and when he held out his talons, the red closed its own among them, locking their grip. Aziraphale’s breath left him at the powerful shock of want that thrilled through him, and he edged his wings open a little more to turn their dive into a slower free-fall.

And _slower _it was, as the red reached out with unfamiliar magic, something older than the Earth, and slowed time around them. Aziraphale had time to feel the wind through every feather and the warmth of the red’s paw and the prickle of its talons sitting without harm upon his scales. He had time to angle a wing and send them into a delicious spiral as they plummeted toward the ground.

He had time to appreciate the heady slide of the red’s magic over his own, a caress outside of flesh and bone, one that tested him out as surely as he had tested earlier. Aziraphale shuddered under the caress, arching his magic back into it before grabbing hold.

The red’s claws tightened at the raw action, sinking into Aziraphale’s wrists and palms, and still Aziraphale held on. It writhed in his grasp, yowling as it tried to break the hold on his magic or his talons, broad wings opening as Time came screaming back to them. The ground rushed up to meet them, too quickly now.

_ Again_, Aziraphale demanded, and then he let go, body whirling in place. His wings opened, catching the air, and he soared upward so closely to his own demise that the tip of his tail left a rent in the soft soil beneath them.

The red followed.

Aziraphale thrilled again at the flighted prowess of the fine creature at his heel, and began to climb back into the sky. He could feel the tacky, wind-dried blood on his wrists, the fury of the red that he had nearly dragged it to its death, and the desire it felt to do something about it. To make Aziraphale pay for his actions.

He didn’t wait for the apex this time, couldn’t, and spun in midair to greet the speeding red. It opened a sharp maw and spit a lance of fire at him that sent Aziraphale listing to the side to avoid it. He opened his own jaws, fire spilling from between them, but the red dodged easily. They were a good match. He calculated and shot again, sending the red directly into the space he wanted it, and then Aziraphale struck.

The red grabbed hold of his paws much more fiercely this time, and Aziraphale pulled his wings closed to become a dead weight. The red closed its own, not resisting, and snapped its jaws forward so that Aziraphale had to pull back. This would be the last drop then. The other would tolerate no more.

Time did not slow them, but Aziraphale thickened the air with his magic to cushion their fall. It streamed around them, blue and brilliant, so that they looked like a comet streaking through the cosmos. Something stirred in him at the thought, some distant memory of… another place. A time when he had been… something else.

He sought after the memory, but it took too much energy to do and still keep them from dying.

_ Aziraphale_, he heard, the word surfacing from the depths of his flight-fogged mind. He held onto it inside of him, and realized that it did not belong to him. It was him, but it had not come from him.

_ Aziraphale! _

He shook his head. The ground was coming. He had to stop them. He pressed magic into the air around him and held tighter to the red, intending to take them to the grass below. His body knew how to keep them alive. It knew this part of a sky dance.

A dance… he picked at the phrase. They were supposed to be fighting. He supposed it looked like they were. Dried blood circled his wrists like cuffs.

_ Aziraphale, let go! _

In a blaze of blue and white light, they hit the ground hard enough that it winded Aziraphale. He released his talons and heaved himself up, using one wing and his considerable bulk to shove the red off balance above him. Its legs buckled and it tucked a wing, rolling onto its side.

_ Aziraphale! Angel, wait! _

It was the red, he realized. It was calling to him with human words in a dragon’s tongue. His lips peeled back from his teeth and he slammed the red onto its back fully, his hind paws planting to either side of its tail, his front paws on either side of its shoulders. A soft touch brushed his belly- the red, with claws tucked in, resting against his ribcage.

He stood over it, panting, and when it began to lift its head, Aziraphale lashed out, jaws coming to clamp around the red’s neck, his teeth pressing into the soft flesh behind its jaws. One twist of his head, one yank up, and the red would be dead.

They were_ supposed _to be fighting, but he didn’t _want _to fight.

He wanted...

_ Aziraphale, please… _

He blinked, trying to claw his way out of the fog. Without the overwhelming wash of instinct for flight, his corporation was losing its hold.

His corporation.

He blinked again, slower this time.

His breath washed hot over the red’s delicate neck scales as he stood, panting still. He wasn’t supposed to hurt this one. This one was Important. He was supposed to… he _liked_ this one.

He wanted…

_ Crowley_.

_ Yeah, angel, yeah. Oh, thank hell._ He sounded exhausted, wrung dry. _I thought you were going to kill me_.

_ I might still_, Aziraphale warned him. _Or worse. _

The magic inherent to this Earthen form wanted more than he could bear. It wanted him to force the creature beneath him to submit, wanted to feel it surrender to him, and he wanted to give himself over to it. He wanted, for the briefest moment, to let it consume him wholly so that he could take without remorse.

He tried to breathe. He could taste blood.

_ Crowley, I… _A soft keen escaped him, breathed across Crowley’s scales and answered by a squirm of Crowley’s entire body and a similarly pitched noise.

_ I know_, Crowley answered, paws tightening on his chest. He was fighting as well, then. Aziraphale could feel it now that his mind was a little less foggy, feel the pressure of Crowley’s magic against the screaming chaos of Earthen magic. They had made a mistake, to take these forms without knowing them first. _I feel it too, and I- Please, Aziraphale, I want… you don’t have to stop… please... _

Aziraphale made a broken noise and managed to loosen his jaw enough to release Crowley. He couldn’t force his feet to move, couldn’t move away, but at least he was no longer in danger of hurting Crowley accidentally. As soon as he had the freedom to move, Crowley’s sinuous neck stretched up to rasp his cheek scales over Aziraphale’s, drawing a shudder from them both. If Aziraphale’s face had not been bent to the earth before, it surely was now.

His muscles began to quiver with the effort of standing still and the quickly rising crash of adrenaline leaving his system. Crowley lay pliant and quiet beneath him, submitting in the only way that gave his new instincts any relief, and his blood pounded in his ears. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get out of this situation.

_ Please, _Crowley begged softly, body shifting restlessly. _Please just do it already. I want… I want you to, please, angel... _

He knew what Crowley was asking for. It was the same thing that had thundered through Aziraphale when they had launched themselves into the air and began a mating dance that should have been a fight. It was the same thing Aziraphale wanted even now, and he was close enough to take it. He was close, and Crowley was asking, and…

...and there were humans nearby, and an assignment to complete, and these corporations had far more control of them than their usual ones. He wouldn’t have Crowley like this, didn’t want to ruin whatever they had so far built between them the last four and a half millennia, even if what they had didn’t even have a name.

_ Not like this_, he said gently. _I’m so sorry, dear. _

And with that, he shoved himself away from Crowley and took one perfect, magnificent leap into the air, and turned himself toward the east to lie low until Crowley would come for him. If they had done their job well enough, Vortigern would let Merlin live, and would build his tower flawlessly this time. They would both win.

However, as he left Crowley behind in the dirt for the humans, he didn’t feel like he’d won anything at all.

* * *

Crowley set down in the soft grasses leading into the woods. He could see the path Aziraphale had taken, pawprints pressed deep into the soil as he got himself into the cover of the forest. Crowley hadn’t shifted back either, not sure exactly what he would find when he went looking for the angel. He’d been out of it earlier, nearly feral with the overwhelming force of the Earthen magic coursing through their corporations. Crowley didn’t want to meet that again unprepared, so he had kept his scales and wings and claws.

It wasn’t hard to find him. Aziraphale had taken shelter in a large copse of trees, his gleaming white form garish against the greenery. He lifted his wedge-shaped head as Crowley approached, swiveling to regard him with clear, blue eyes. Crowley felt a cool wash of relief to see Aziraphale staring out at him, rather than the beast that had flown him before.

_ You’re you_, Crowley said, halting at the edge of the trees.

_ Rather unfortunately_, Aziraphale agreed. _I assume the humans bought it. _

_ Seems so. I stayed long enough for Merlin to declare a few prophecies Vortigern didn’t care for very much, but he's safe for now,_ Crowley assured him. _Vortigern won’t kill him so soon anymore. A real wizard might be needed, now that there are dragons afoot. _

_ There won’t be, _Aziraphale reminded him. _After we return to normal. _

Crowley regarded him without speaking. They would have to return to their human-shaped corporations, that much was true. Holding onto these forms was taxing, a constant fight against the instincts and magic so inherent to them. Outside of the internal pressures, the longer a pair of dragons remained near humans the more likely it was that the humans would get it into their heads to become dragonslayers which would end arguably worse than what Crowley was about to say.

_ We don’t have to, yet. _

Aziraphale drew back a little and even as a dragon he read clearly as confused._ There’s no reason to stay. _

_ None? _Crowley asked softly, letting himself slink a little lower, take one step closer. _Not even to finish what you started? _

_ Crowley, I…_ Aziraphale began, head ducking. Aziraphale couldn’t blush like this, but Crowley could feel his embarrassment like a curl of steam inside his chest. These corporations were so _sensitive _to such things, even the emotions felt by those around them. _I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have let the dragon wrest away control like that. I didn’t want to hurt you. _

The ghost of Aziraphale’s jaws clamped over Crowley’s throat again, an echoing memory of teeth just barely prickling into his skin. The wounds had already healed, leaving him with a collar of dried blood that dulled the shine of his crimson scales.

_ I know_, he admitted. _I could feel what you wanted. _

A low sound escaped Aziraphale, something wretched. _I’m so sorry, Crowley, I couldn’t- I didn’t- _

_ I wanted it too. _

The admission landed far too heavily between them. Crowley hadn’t meant to say it so plainly but now that he had, he didn’t take it back. Aziraphale stared back at him as though Crowley had struck him, silent and still. His jaw opened like a reflex, as if he thought to speak the human way before remembering dragon tongues were not suited for it.

_ You- _The sentence broke before Aziraphale got any further but even that word sounded like disbelief. Straightening up, Aziraphale looked away, speaking to the nearest tree trunk. _If there’s no further reason to keep them, then perhaps we ought to give up these corporations. _

_ And if there is further reason _? Crowley asked, another step closer now. Aziraphale glanced to him and deflated almost imperceptibly, a small noise roughing at his throat.

_ There isn’t,_ Aziraphale told him, a wretched admission if Crowley had ever heard one. _They’re stubborn, strong-willed, wanting things, Crowley. _

_ They are, _Crowley agreed. He was nearly close enough to touch, and Aziraphale hadn’t moved away yet. _But so am I. _

_ Because it’s affecting you, _Aziraphale pointed out, just as stubbornly as Crowley felt. _Making you think that you- _

_ It’s not_, Crowley interrupted. He fell still.

They weren’t_ like_ this, Aziraphale was right. They bickered and thwarted and wiled around one another. They were supposed to be on opposite sides, supposed to be mortal enemies. They were supposed to hate one another, and yet… Crowley couldn’t. He had slithered up from Eden to meet Aziraphale on the wall, and his world had never turned rightside up again.

He didn’t want to_ fight_ Aziraphale. He never had. He hadn’t wanted… _this_, perhaps, not this fiery desire singing in his veins and lighting him up inside, but he didn’t hate the feeling now that it was here, now that he could. He had wanted Aziraphale in every other way- it made sense to want this, too.

And he was not, he thought, wrong to think that Aziraphale, who should have struck him down that very first meeting, felt at least a little bit the same. Aziraphale, who invited him to dinners and often smiled to see him. Aziraphale, whose demeanor brightened the way Crowley’s heart did whenever they met up again. Aziraphale, who stood before him now practically emanating the same want Crowley felt low in his own belly.

They wanted the same thing, Aziraphale just needed to understand that Crowley felt the same. That it was okay, at least for a little while.

_ I wanted things before I took this shape_, Crowley said slowly. _Things I didn’t know how to want. But this corporation knows how. Yours does too. We will have to give them up at some point, and we may never get a chance to take them again. We’ll never get to feel like we did in the sky before, or like we did on the ground, if not now. Tell me I’m alone in wanting this a little longer, Aziraphale, and I’ll turn back right now, I swear it. _

Finally, Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley, blue eyes clear and bright and sad. He stared for so long that Crowley nearly took that as his answer, but eventually he bowed his head closer, scaled cheek scratching over Crowley’s.

_ You’re not alone, _he admitted, barely a whisper of thought in Crowley’s mind.

_ But?_ Crowley asked, pressing into the touch, snout turning to get beneath Aziraphale’s jaw, to the soft bend where it met his throat.

_ But someone will notice,_ Aziraphale said, eyes closing.

Crowley’s thick, rope-like tongue flicked out, the forked tip fitting the contour of Aziraphale’s throat and no doubt tickling. _ They won’t. These corporations have too much Earth magic coursing through them. More than enough to eclipse ours. What else? _

Aziraphale nosed at his shoulder, twisting to face Crowley in earnest now, breath gusting warm over where Crowley’s wing met his scapula. _What if you regret it? What if I do? _

_ Will you? _Crowley asked, opening his wing a little to brush it along Aziraphale’s, sending a shudder through them both.

_ I don’t know,_ Aziraphale said honestly, rubbing his chin over the muscle of Crowley’s open wing, following the bones. _I’ve never even been capable of feeling this. I don’t know what will happen if I indulge in it. If I’ll regret it or if… if I’ll regret its lack. _

Crowley stilled, his cheek against Aziraphale’s shoulder, his heart dropping at the thought. His true form didn’t want like this, nor did his human form, or even his snake. If they did this, Aziraphale might be right. They might feel its lack the rest of their very, very long lives.

_ We might,_ Crowley said slowly, sweeping their scales together as he moved forward, rubbing his body alongside Aziraphale’s and relishing the electric pleasure that seared through him at all of that contact. _Do you regret having tasted Judean dates? Do you regret the Library of Alexandria’s existence? Or Pompeii’s, before Vesuvius? _he asked. _Would you rather have not loved them at all? _

_ No_, Aziraphale confessed. _They deserved to be known, once. _

In one fluid motion, Crowley folded his outside wing and dropped his shoulder to roll to the ground, sprawled on his back. Aziraphale neatly stepped to the side, keeping clear of Crowley’s spreading wings as they opened over the mossy, leaf-ridden soil. Front paws tucked to his chest and rear paws resting on the ground, Crowley curled his serpentine body into a pleading twist.

_ And me?_ he said quietly, trying not to sound like he was begging. The fire that belonged in his belly felt as though it had spread to all his limbs, turning him molten and leaving him longing to be forged. _Would you rather not love me? _

Aziraphale made a rough noise, not quite a growl, and stepped onto the webbing of Crowley’s wing with one paw. It sank into the leaf litter, but didn’t tear, didn’t hurt even when Aziraphale’s other paw joined on the other side. By Satan’s good graces, Crowley managed to keep from squirming at the sensation of being so pinned, trapped on the ground.

_ You’re a demon,_ Aziraphale told him, the crest of his keel rubbing over Crowley’s. _I’m not supposed to love you. I’m not even supposed to know you. _

_ In for a penny…_ Crowley purred, placing his clawed paws on the hollow barrel of Aziraphale’s chest just to feel his hearts beating. As asynchronous as they were, his pulse felt like a constant thrum, a subtle vibration. Crowley spared only a second to regret not having the soft lips of a human to press to it.

Aziraphale’s head dropped and Crowley tensed, expecting the needling grip of teeth around his neck, but it didn’t come. Instead, Aziraphale set the tip of his snout against Crowley’s jaw and fell completely still.

_ You’re not a fruit, _ Aziraphale said, even his mental voice shaking. _ Or a library, or a city. Promise me, Crowley. Promise this won’t ruin us. _

_ It won’t, it can’t. It’s not an end_, Crowley promised, finally risking enough movement to squirm beneath Aziraphale, sliding their smooth belly scutes together. _ Please, angel. _

Aziraphale did growl then and Crowley’s head tipped back on sheer instinct, throat baring. Instead of teeth this time, Aziraphale turned his head, his angular, bone-tipped snout pressing hard into the vulnerable joint of Crowley’s jaw, sending a shock through Crowley’s system that practically turned him to putty.

His limbs relaxed, breath slowing, and he realized _ why _ the instinct to bare his throat had been so strong, why he had rolled onto his back instead of presenting like he might have in another form. He couldn’t move like this, didn’t want to, would be content to lie just like this as long as Aziraphale kept pressure right there.

_ You’re alright? _ Aziraphale asked, even as he nudged and shifted both of their positions to align their vents.

Crowley made a rough, guttural noise deep in his chest, not sure how to express that if he had the faculties about him to freeze time just now, he would do it. He’d trap them here, his body singing in delight, Aziraphale a heavy weight atop him, mind buzzing with magic that didn’t belong to him. _ I’m great, _ he managed, which didn’t begin to cover any of that. _ Perfect. Couldn’t be better. _

Aziraphale snorted, fire-hot breath scorching over Crowley’s neck and making him a liar; that was _ much _ better. Before he could admit as much, or ask for Aziraphale to do that again, Aziraphale’s spine curved, his vent pressing tightly to Crowley’s. A high keen clawed out of Crowley, echoed by Aziraphale as if dragged out of him.

Something pushed, warm and slick, against Crowley’s vent. With Aziraphale’s nose where it was, he couldn’t get his corporation to obey him, not even to help, but he realized a moment later it wouldn’t be necessary. What pressed at him had to be spurs, softer and longer than the ones on Crowley’s snake form, and far more flexible. Prehensile, Crowley thought breathlessly.

At which point it occurred to Crowley, a bit too late to be of much use, that he had no idea what was about to happen or how this worked for dragons. His corporation knew- it ached and burned and set all of his joints tingling as it was held still by a single point of pressure from Aziraphale. He could feel, too, his own eagerness low in his belly, the anticipation of being breached, the dizzying desire to be taken.

But the process itself…

He was not kept waiting, however. Aziraphale took only a moment to figure out what he was doing, and then the soft, slick heat pressed inside of Crowley, slipping in easily. Aziraphale’s breath feathered heavy over Crowley’s throat as he breathed out, shaky and unsteady, and Crowley answered with a high, needy whine.

_ Almost_, Aziraphale told him.

It sounded like some kind of reassurance, only Crowley wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be reassured_ of_, until it started. His breath caught in his chest, heartbeats rocketing up all at once as he felt Aziraphale’s… well, Crowley didn’t know what it was, but it expanded inside of him, opening his vent wider around it. He choked out a raw noise as the edges deepest in him curled outward and locked into place, holding them fast to one another with almost no give at all.

Carefully, Aziraphale let up with his snout, easing Crowley out of the temporary paralysis. Almost immediately, Crowley writhed, bucking up minutely and feeling their connection hold steady.

_ What the fuck_, Crowley said, gulping in air and looking up at Aziraphale with glassy eyes.

_ Does it hurt?_ Aziraphale asked, concerned.

_ No, _Crowley said honestly, shifting again just to feel it and letting his corporation fully relish the sensation. _I just don’t- what is that? _

_ A sheath_, Aziraphale answered, drawing back. _Crowley, you do know how… no, of course you don’t, you ridiculous creature. You had no idea what you were asking for when you came here. _

_ Don’t you dare fucking stop_, Crowley hissed, claws curling against Aziraphale’s chest but only sliding harmlessly over the shiny scales.

_ I hadn’t planned on it,_ Aziraphale told him, somehow sounding put-out and turned-on at the same time. _But you should know- _

_ Don’t want to know, _Crowley said, a touch desperately. _C’mon angel, just move or- or- whatever- just- _

_ Crowley_, Aziraphale admonished, head sinking low enough again that Crowley almost bared his throat a second time. It was a good enough threat to still him. _Look at me. _Crowley did, under protest, hoping his irritation showed on his scaled face and knowing it wouldn’t. _I can still let go, for now. But the next part… Well, I watched the dragons in Eden once. They couldn’t part for hours. _

_ Hours_, Crowley breathed, chest soft with want.

_ I take it you find that amenable? _

Crowley gave a helpless groan at the words, struggling through the white-out in his brain at the thought of staying just like this for_ hours_. He managed only: _Yeah, yes. Please. _

Aziraphale shifted his weight a little more onto his haunches, scraping his rough cheek over Crowley’s as he did so, and Crowley felt the slide of something writhing and hot between them. He could feel it move through the walls of the sheath, spilling into him slowly. Something in him stirred and with an intense, sudden clarity, he knew what it was. He could feel every tendril of his core as they responded to Aziraphale’s intrusion.

_ Oh, fuck… _His breath grated in his chest, reedy and laced with a whine. He could feel each of his own tendrils wrapping around Aziraphale’s, twining like fingers and sending arcs of pleasure down his spine over and over.

Heat seared at the many points of contact, almost painful, and Crowley gave a very undignified honk, dragging a harsh noise from Aziraphale that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Aziraphale tucked his face against Crowley’s throat, near where it met his body. _Oh my dear, push_.

Crowley was not sure what he meant by that, but as soon as the idea was in his head, his body responded eagerly. His gut clenched and where they had joined inside of him _shifted,_ and Crowley nearly passed out from the joy of it. He was going to die, right here like this, and he wouldn’t have any regrets.

_ There you are_, Aziraphale crooned, gentle but just as raw as Crowley felt. He tugged backward at their joined sexes, pulling them toward himself inside of Crowley and Crowley wailed, grasping at him, the spikes of his head scoring deep rents in the forest floor as he threw his head back. _A little more. _

More was beyond Crowley’s ability to fathom. He lay still, panting raggedly, and Aziraphale let him until he’d spiraled back down a little, enough to let his body give another gentle push. Aziraphale pulled with him, until Crowley felt a pressure that bowed his spine and sent his tail up to wrap circles around Aziraphale's, who held on right back. Aziraphale’s wings dropped down to mantle around them, the edges pressed along Crowley’s sides, and Crowley’s own came up to encircle him, dragging him close.

They settled.

Crowley gave a small test wiggle, but their joined sexes were now seated firmly in the sheath connecting them, unmoving. Aziraphale trembled finely as he collapsed his weight down to coil around Crowley, and Crowley couldn’t blame him for any of it. He could feel his own muscles trembling, even though they had done barely a thing; the constant pressure and squirmy nature of their joining left him with a near-constant flood of sensation, twinges of pleasure that made him dizzy even lying down.

Hours, he thought, already adrift in it. He wondered if dragons could uncouple sooner and chose not to. Crowley wouldn’t, not until Aziraphale made the first move, not if it continued to feel like this.

_ They don’t orgasm, _Aziraphale said after a couple of minutes, his mental voice thin. He was obviously having just as much trouble keeping his wits intact. If Crowley had had a proper mouth, he’d have grinned. As it was, his jaws slacked open, teeth baring. _Dragons, I mean. _

_ Doesn’t matter_, Crowley told him, eyes closing in bliss. _Not if it keeps up like this the whole time. _

_ It will_, Aziraphale said, relaxing against him finally. It was an awkward position and if they were actually the creatures they were pretending at, they might be sore in the morning. _I don’t know how the end will feel. I’m sorry if it hurts. _

Crowley pried his eyes open and swiveled his head to look at Aziraphale, who refused to meet his gaze. _Why would it hurt? _

_ When it- they… when they, you know._ Aziraphale winced, sending a shock of pleasure through them both so hard that they gasped. When it passed, Aziraphale said: _I suppose you don’t know, though. _

_ Aziraphale. _

Aziraphale looked very much like he would like to be anywhere else at the moment, but he managed to mumble out:_ They shed the wiggly bits. _

_ They what_ . 

_ Well what did you think corporeal copulation was for, Crowley? _Aziraphale said testily, as though he hadn’t just given Crowley abjectly horrifying news. _The protrusions that are melding will shed off in a couple of hours to start forming eggs, and we’ll be able to part then. _

Crowley made a small, pained noise._ There’s so much about what you just said that I don’t like. You know what would have been a good thing to warn me about? My bits falling off. _

_ They’re not __your __bits and they’re not __falling off__, _Aziraphale told him calmly. _At least, not any more than semen __falls off __a human phallus. _

_ Please stop saying words, _Crowley said, eyes closing again. His head thunked back onto the forest floor, jostling them enough to send a sharp spike of electric heat through his bones. He groaned.

Several long minutes passed. Crowley kept himself from thinking too much about anything just by the minute twitches of his haunches, a shift of only millimeters allowing him to ride a long wave of pleasure until he felt nearly drunk with it. He had just decided he could forgive the ending when Aziraphale lifted his head and laid his jaw on Crowley’s keel.

_ Would you like a distraction?_ he asked, almost idly.

Crowley cracked an eye. _What kind of distraction? _He was already doing a fine job distracting himself and, if Aziraphale’s continued trembling were any indication, Aziraphale as well.

_ Something else we’re not allowed to do,_ Aziraphale said, staring very dutifully at a tree that was nowhere near Crowley’s face.

Intrigued, Crowley lifted his head and put it right back down again as too much sensation shocked through him. He was no longer sure_ hours _seemed like a very good idea. _I’m listening. _

Rather than words, Crowley’s inquiry was met with the scorching brush of Aziraphale’s true form, not quite close enough to breach his corporation’s scales. Crowley fought the urge to jerk back from the danger, eyes flying wide. Aziraphale didn’t press any closer, but nor did he draw back again. He only continued to stare out at the trees, as if he hadn’t just threatened to destroy them both.

_ Not funny_, Crowley told him. _You know we can’t. _

_ I know we’re not allowed_, Aziraphale said evenly. _And I know we might normally not be _able _to… but I’ve been thinking about what you said, about there being enough Earth magic to… how did you say it? _

_ Eclipse our own, _Crowley offered, feeling weak. Aziraphale was right. The Earth magic they were bound to would be more than plenty to dilute the energy of their true forms enough to touch. The impossibly intense desire his corporation had felt for Aziraphale’s earlier couldn’t hold a candle to the bolt of need that shot through Crowley now.

_ Yes that was it,_ Aziraphale agreed softly. _I think we could. _

_ And you want to? _Crowley asked, even though Aziraphale had brought it up. He hadn’t touched another’s true form since before the Fall. Demons just didn’t trust anyone like that, to give them access to the part of themselves that could actually be damaged. Even the possibility of a chance to safely feel that kind of connection again… it was enough to make Crowley feel light-headed.

_ I do. _Aziraphale tipped his head, one blue eye rotating to look at him finally. _If you- _

_ I do, _Crowley said quickly. He felt greedy, wanting so much of so many things today, but he was a demon. It came with the territory, he figured. _You really think it won’t…? _

The silence was a bit telling, but eventually Aziraphale said:_ There’s no way to know for sure, of course. But I- I think not. _

A little shiver ran down Crowley's spine and into Aziraphale’s._ Then let’s. _

Aziraphale gave him an achingly gentle nuzzle and then set his weight down fully, his neck crossed over Crowley’s, wings still tucked around him. The blue of his eyes shuttered closed and a moment later Crowley felt it again- the blinding heat of Aziraphale’s true form, bright and shining and golden. Though he still wanted to shy away from it, slither away into the safety of darkness, he forced himself to hold steady and wait.

Carefully,_ so _carefully, Aziraphale pushed through the skin and scales of his own corporation, and Crowley had to close his eyes to keep them safe. These were not the pale shadows of themselves they had used before in their silly displays. These were their true selves, splitting the fabric of reality to enter into the Earthly sphere in all their glory, masked still by the flesh and bone of Earth’s magic where it contained them.

Any other time, they could never have gotten away with it, but here, like this, it was like throwing a pebble into a rockslide. Anyone that wanted to catch this sin would have to know what to look for, and be looking very, very closely indeed to find it in the clamor of their corporations’ magic.

He felt the first warm tendril of contact brush over his scales, not quite close enough, and he screwed up his courage and reached back.

When they touched, Crowley nearly blacked out from the sheer relief of it. His mind spun and twisted wildly, his essence tried to expand and contract at once, and all of his mortal senses vanished. No sight, no smell, no sound. Even the physical tie he’d made to Aziraphale- all of it suddenly absent, replaced only by a keen awareness of everything that Aziraphale was. Everything he had ever been or felt, all flayed open for Crowley to understand, and all of it was unadulterated _ love_. Love for God, love for Her creations, love for humans, love for food and music and art.

Nestled deep in the core of him, beyond the reach of passing glances… love for_ Crowley_.

Some distant part of him knew that Aziraphale would be privy to the same knowing from him, but it didn’t matter. He had loved Aziraphale since the wall, and he may as well know it. He may as well know what Crowley was and was not. He poured himself into the contact willingly, coiling around the light of God’s Grace that Aziraphale still harbored within his core. Crowley had not been this close to something so holy in millennia and the presence of it threw its previous absence into sharp relief. He never wanted to let go again.

Aziraphale slid along his awareness, through him and in him and all around him, painful and sweet and overwhelming, just enough of the Earthen magic tagging along to keep them safe. It burned and still Crowley pushed into every point of contact, the energy of his feathers tangling with that of Aziraphale’s, leaving him raw and weak and wanting more.

** Lovely.**

Aziraphale’s voice sliced through the mess of sensation, and Crowley chased after it, wanting more. He hadn’t heard a Voice since the one that had spoken the words to cast him out of Heaven. Back then he hadn’t had the language or experience to tremble and want, but his human corporation had taught him such things, and they tore through him now.

** Beautiful. Wonderful. Good.**

Crowley had no Voice of his own left- it had been torn from him when he was cast down, silencing his song. He could not sing for Her any longer, even if he had wanted to, nor could he answer Aziraphale now, however desperately he wanted to speak against the praise. There was no defense anyway. Aziraphale had seen the very core of him, every good and bad atom of his existence, and still judged him worthy of such words. Crowley would never heal from such a wound.

** Clever serpent, come closer.**

Crowley did, helplessly.

Even though there was nowhere closer to be, he split the parts of him that had remained whole and let Aziraphale’s light seep into the cracks between them. Aziraphale took refuge in his shadows, dimming the way a sunset dimmed the sky into a rainbow of colors that humans had only a fraction of the ability to see. They burned and twisted and sank their essences into one another for what felt like an eternity in a single instant.

And then Aziraphale withdrew with just as much gentleness as the first touch, and it took everything Crowley had not to reach for him again, not to drag him back or follow him right back into his skin. If Crowley had still worn a human corporation he might have come back to cheeks wet with tears, but dragons knew no such thing as sorrow. They did not mourn loss.

Crowley released the last vestiges of Aziraphale’s true form and blinked open eyes as green as summer. The color faded on the next blink as he came back to himself, and he realized not all of Aziraphale had truly left him. Knowledge of him stayed behind. Love.

And something much, much worse.

Guilt. Pity.

_ I’m so sorry, _Aziraphale said, quiet even without sound. _I didn’t realize that you… that you actually did feel the same. I thought… _

_ That I’m just a demon?_ Crowley finished for him, bitter and aching and tired to be trapped back in mortal form. _That I can’t feel actual love anymore? Well, I can. It’d have been no fun for Her, taking that away from me, angel. Not when it hurts so bad to feel it. _

_ Crowley, I… _Aziraphale faltered, and between one breath and the next, Crowley guessed a thousand different comforts that would hurt worse for being kind. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t offer him any of them. _You know it doesn’t matter, don’t you? Even if- even __though __you do, nothing can come of it. We’re on opposite sides. After this, we… well. _

_ I know. _Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Aziraphale.

Because Aziraphale wasn’t going to tell Crowley anything he hadn’t told himself a million times already. He wasn’t going to say anything Crowley hadn’t used to stop himself confessing a hundred times before. He had known even as he came here to ask for this that it would likely be the most they could have. He’d known it would be brief, just as he’d known it would be worth it. He knew how to treasure something precious. He knew how to protect a memory, burying it so deep no one could ever take it away from him.

Aziraphale shifted just-so, and Crowley let his wings fall back to the earth, releasing him. They had to have been locked in their true-form session longer than Crowley had thought, because when Aziraphale stood, he slid out of Crowley just as easily as he’d entered. Crowley’s eyes closed and his tail unwound from Aziraphale’s slowly and he was glad then for his corporation’s inability to cry over the loss.

_ You should get back to your camp soon,_ Aziraphale said quietly, backing off to allow Crowley to roll onto his side and clamber shakily to his feet. _Merlin will need your help. _

_ Yeah_, Crowley agreed, trying to gauge if he had the strength to fly or if he’d be walking back. He supposed it didn’t matter. He’d have to be a human by the time he got close enough for the watch to see. Walking it was. At least that way he could focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and maybe not tear himself apart over how unthinking it had been for him to come here even if he had no regrets.

_ Crowley… _

He hesitated, head swiveling to look over his shoulder, down the length of one folded wing to where Aziraphale stood. Aziraphale met his gaze for only a moment before dropping it to the ground.

_ I’m glad we… got to know each other,_ he said. _But perhaps we shouldn’t… erm… well. I don’t want you to get in trouble. They’d cast me down, but you… _

Crowley snorted. _I won’t say anything if you don’t,_ he said, and turned away. But just so we’re clear, it’d be worth it, he thought. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. _See you around, angel. _

With that, he set off into the forest at a lope, and absolutely did not look back.

* * *

Crowley tread alongside of Merlin in the dark, his aura spread out around them such that it would keep away any wild animals or people thinking that they might jump an easy target. Anyone or anything that got close enough would quickly come to decide that they wanted to be much less close. If Merlin had noticed, he politely hadn’t remarked, which was irritating to Crowley on a level he couldn’t explain.

They had made it halfway to where Crowley could feel Aziraphale waiting for them when Merlin spoke the first words of the journey. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Crowley made a face to cover the flip his belly did at the question. He wasn’t sure what the answer was. “Where did you learn a curse like that?” he asked, instead of answering.

“My father,” Merlin said easily.

“You remember his name?” Crowley asked. “I’d like to thank him in person.”

“So it worked,” Merlin observed. Crowley silently mimicked the words in a very unfavorable way. “Not the way you would have liked, I take it.”

“Not exactly,” Crowley agreed.

“Pity,” Merlin said, tipping his head up to look at the stars. “Maybe next time.”

“_Next _time?” Crowley said incredulously, though he couldn’t help the amused half a laugh that roughed out of his throat. This child was going to go places. “Kid, the world will end first.”

“Almost,” Merlin agreed, glancing over and giving him a little smile. “It almost will. His name was Asmodeus, by the way. I don’t think you’ll want to thank him, though. You’ve already been cursed once.” Merlin halted and turned to face him fully, smile still on his young features. Crowley was still trying to wrap his head around Merlin’s lineage when he added: “I doubt you want to see Aziraphale again so soon. I can make it the rest of the way myself.”

Crowley jolted back to the present at the thought. While he hated to admit that the boy was right, he hated the idea of facing Aziraphale again right now more. There wasn’t any need to. He’d fulfilled his half of the bargain. He’d gotten the boy out of Vortigern’s clutches. Aziraphale would leave the tower alone, and Crowley, without any more reason to stay after it was built, could take off and hide for the next century if he wanted.

Merlin, of course, seemed perfectly capable of walking himself the last couple of kilometers. Aziraphale would just have to get over Crowley brushing him off. Somehow Crowley doubted it would be a chore. He was fairly certain Aziraphale didn’t want to see him right now, either.

“Alright then. Try not to get eaten by wolves,” Crowley wished Merlin, instead of spilling any of the rest of it to him.

“They’d be very unlucky to come across me,” Merlin said, and Crowley found that he believed him. In fact, he caught himself wondering if he’d really had to rescue the boy at all. Somehow he didn’t think that Merlin would have stayed captured if he’d had other places he’d wanted to be.

Nodding, Crowley turned away and left him, just like that. He didn’t make it five steps before Merlin called his name, the same way as he had from inside the prison carriage, and Crowley hackled as he whipped back around.

“No more curses,” he warned, fingers already ready to snap him into silence.

Merlin showed his empty hands as a gesture of innocence. “No more curses,” he agreed. “It’s just… I care about him, and he’s talked a lot about you. About your… situation. How you’re on opposite sides of something. You should consider stopping that.”

“Stopping… what?” Crowley asked, before he understood. “It’s not like I can just go join- he’s not going to- that’s not-”

“I know,” Merlin said carefully, arresting Crowley’s sputtering. “He’s told me he can’t join your side, and you can’t join his. I just thought you might consider making your own, instead.”

Crowley stared at him.

Their _own _side?

Merlin smiled again. “Goodnight, Crowley.”

And with that, he turned and began to disappear into the night. Crowley watched him until he was out of sight, and watched the empty road long after, until he felt Aziraphale moving away, presumably with Merlin in tow.

Their own side, he mused to himself, finally turning back toward his own camp.

Now _that _was a good idea.


End file.
